


Lying to Myself (Can't Seem to Stop)

by IcyPanther



Series: Shooting For the Stars (But Crashing Back Down) [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Langst, Protective Hunk (Voltron), Protective Keith (Voltron), Protective Shiro (Voltron), Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 22:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16962741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: Lance is back on campus and things are… things are not okay. He wants them to be. Needs them to be. He’s trying to pretend that they are. He’s going to classes, doing his best to ignore the rumors, talking to Keith and Pidge again… If he tells himself he’s fine enough times it’ll have to be true. But… But he’s not. He’s not fine at all. And what’s really scaring him is he doesn’t know to be. He doesn’t know if he ever will be again.





	Lying to Myself (Can't Seem to Stop)

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline notes:** Alternate universe set in college. This is part of a series and is part four so you will need to read the other three fanfictions first.  
>  **Warning notes:** None, although as per this series this fic too will deal with elements of rape and sexual assault, specifically recovery and the healing/acceptance process and mentions of the assault.

Hunk was in the process of thoroughly getting his butt kicked in a racing video game against Lance when his phone buzzed.

Salvation.

“I surrender,” he said, putting down the controller perhaps a little too quickly and watching his car careen into a wall.

“Hunk, no,” Lance protested and there was the barest hint of a whine in his voice that made Hunk grin despite the circumstances.

“ _Hermano,_ you’ve lapped me three times,” Hunk said, reaching for his phone as it buzzed with a second text. “Besides, we need a break. We’ve been at this for…” he looked at the phone, noting Pidge’s name in the text field but focusing on the clock, “holy cheeseballs! Three hours!”

“Your point?”

Hunk’s stomach let out a mournful grumble. “Exactly,” he said, fixing Lance with a look. “Dinner prep time, _hermano._ Come on, you said you were going to help me make mojo for the pork roast and we need that cooking stat so we’re not eating at like nine.”

Lance put down his controller. “Fine. But,” his face sobered and he cut his gaze away, voice growing softer. “I’m really not hungry.”

Lance hadn’t been hungry for weeks. He’d lost weight, now almost seven pounds, and while it might not seem like much Lance had always been slender. Plus, the fact two more pounds had been after Detective Coran had called with the news that Wilde had been arrested and Hunk had hoped it would encourage Lance’s stomach to behave.

But…

But things hadn’t gone over so well with his older siblings when Lance had sat down to talk with them a couple days ago after the hubbub of Christmas and the New Year — they’d ultimately offered their support and love but there was a distance now between them and Lance as they didn’t, couldn’t understand why Lance would do something like that, why he hadn’t gone to the authorities. His brothers in particular had not taken it well, his eldest questioning how he could, as a man, have ever allowed another man to do _that._  

Lance told Hunk it was okay, that at least they said they were still there for him, but he’d spent that evening at Hunk’s house and cried himself to sleep in Hunk’s arms. Time would help, Hunk knew, for them to process what had happened to their youngest brother, to understand why he’d done it and how he was a victim in all of this, but that didn’t help Lance right now.

It just hurt him more.

Lance felt like he’d done something wrong, that this was his fault, and whenever Hunk tried to refute those feelings Lance had whispered he didn’t want to talk about it.

Lance had still been withdrawn before that but he’d become even moreso after, spending most of the days curled up in bed or on the couch, mostly sleeping but sometimes watching a movie with either Hunk or Sara (who had not been told and Lance wanted to keep it that way) and occasionally his parents in the evening hours.

Hunk had been ecstatic when he’d managed to cajole Lance over for a day of video games and dinner while his parents went to a belated Christmas party and he had the whole house to himself. Lance had been doing well, getting rather into the video games and had even laughed a few times, but there was still a melancholy cast to it, like he wasn’t sure how to be happy any more.

It broke Hunk’s heart.

Lance needed to talk about what had happened, process it, but he was insistent that they not talk about it whatsoever, that he didn’t want to remember and that he was fine.

They all knew that last part wasn’t true but Lance just shook his head, hunching over in still too-large hoodies and jackets, and he looked so _small_ that Hunk couldn’t press him to talk.

He just made sure Lance knew he was there if he ever wanted to.

“I know,” Hunk said gently as Lance kept his gaze trained on the floor. “But we’ve got a couple hours still. Maybe by then you’ll be up for a little something.”

“Maybe,” came the whisper.

“Come on,” Hunk held out a hand as he lumbered to his feet and to his relief Lance took it and allowed Hunk to pull him up. “You okay to start pulling spices? I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick.”

“Yeah.”

Hunk gave Lance’s shoulder a quick squeeze before he veered towards the hall bathroom and Lance continued from the den towards the kitchen.

He pulled up Pidge’s text message after he’d done his business. It wasn’t that he was hiding any correspondence from Lance, but Lance had still not reached out in any capacity to Pidge or Keith other than that first text message chain and Hunk knew any mention of them made Lance hang his head and his cheeks flush.

He had been planning to tell them, Hunk knew.

But after the way things had gone with his siblings…

Lance was afraid.

Hunk knew that Keith and Pidge weren't like that, at least he didn’t think so, but then again he’d never known Lance’s papá as anything but caring and compassionate and seeing that anger directed at Lance had scared him. Although, at least unlike Lance’s brothers, his papá was doing his best to understand and be there for Lance and making sure Lance knew that.

He had no idea what Pidge’s message was about — they were returning to campus in two days on January sixth — but he could use some good thoughts. Maybe it was a picture of her dog? She liked to send those randomly and while Lance didn’t respond to the photos Hunk had seen him smile when he got one.

There were two messages, the first a text.

_We know._

Hunk felt his stomach bottom out.

What?

Who was we?

Knew what?

He had a terrible feeling he knew all of those answers already.

The second text was a mobile link and Hunk moved a shaking hand to click on it.

An article from the Garrison City Gazette filled his screen.

 _“Galaxy Garrison Professor Charged with Sexual Assault of Student”_ read the headline with a mugshot of Wilde that only showed him smiling and looking completely at ease in orange prison garb.

Hunk’s legs gave out.

He managed to catch himself painfully on the counter and lowered himself to the floor from there.

Bile tickled his tongue.

He read quickly through the article, just a few paragraphs long. It wasn’t much, taken from a press release provided by the police department that Andrew Wilde had been arrested and charged with criminal sexual assault of a student and was out on bond (one hundred and fifty thousand dollars with ten percent applying) after his initial appearance before the court as of January third, which was yesterday.

The article said the police and Galaxy Garrison University had declined to comment further except for the latter to say that Wilde had been suspended pending trial (the preliminary hearing scheduled for February sixteenth and Hunk couldn't believe it was taking that long but Coran had warned them it could drag) and they were working with police on the matter.

The story finished with a brief blurb about Wilde clearly taken from his staff page; he had been teaching at GGU for twenty-one years and was a revered astrophysics professor along with a list of awards his research had won.

Hunk was too afraid to click into the comments, of which there were apparently forty-six.

A hesitant knock sounded on the door and Hunk jerked his head up, hitting it on the underside of the counter with a groan.. “Hunk? Are… are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, be right out,” Hunk managed.

Oh God.

What…

What did he do?

His phone buzzed in his hand with another text from Pidge, who had no doubt seen his read receipt.

_Hunk? Please say something._

What did he say? Deny it? No, Pidge knew, Keith probably too by the sound of it. It would be hard for them not to, not with what little pieces they’d gleaned.

Oh God.

What did they think? What would _they_ do? Would they stand by Lance? Would they distance themselves too?

His phone started ringing with Pidge’s ringtone.

Hunk tasted vomit.

He silenced the call.

Trembling hands pulled up the text.

 _Can’t talk_ he typed out.

He locked the screen.

Oh God.

She responded immediately, the message showing only on the view screen. _Call me later?_

Hunk cleared it without showing a receipt.

He turned his phone on silent, jammed it in his pocket…

And emptied his contents in the toilet.

Another knock sounded, this one a little more insistent. “Hunk? _Hermano?”_

“‘m fine,” Hunk choked out.

He didn’t sound fine.

The door knob twisted and Lance let himself in, ocean eyes widening at the sight Hunk knew he made.

His stomach clenched again.

What did he tell Lance?

That Pidge and Keith knew? That Wilde had officially made the news?

That this was going to be all students could talk about when they went back to campus in two days?

Oh God.

Oh God oh God oh God.

“I… I might not be up for dinner either,” Hunk whispered, bending his head over the toilet bowl. “I think… think maybe too many racing games. All those laps…”

He was such a coward.

But he couldn’t tell Lance now, not when he had finally been smiling today.

He didn’t even know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Lance said quietly, guilt palatable. “This is my f—”

“No, no,” Hunk interrupted before that thought could be voiced. “Not at all. You know me and my weak stomach.” He tried to muster up a grin and Lance gave him a tentative smile back. He stood up with a creak of his knees and reached over to flush the toilet. “How… how about a movie? Something funny? And we can do soup later?”

Lance gave a small nod.

Hunk rinsed his mouth out, gathered up some quilts and put on a kettle for hot chocolate (no one could say no to hot chocolate, not even Lance) and within a few minutes they were settled on the couch with _The Emperor’s New Groove,_ mugs in hand and Hunk had an arm about Lance’s shoulders, holding him tight.

His phone burned a guilty hole in his pocket all night.

He never called Pidge back.

xxx

They were back on campus.

Lance thought he might be sick.

His legs were moving robotically from where Mrs. Garrett had dropped them off and towards the residence hall, Hunk at his side, head down and hood pulled up. He was glad it was windy and cold; no one gave him a second glance.

He was so afraid of what they would see.

Hunk had told him that Wilde’s arrest had made the news.

He also said that Wilde was out on bond.

Coran had called yesterday to talk to Lance about that, reminding him that Wilde was currently no-trespassed from the university and the emergency Order of Protection had gone before a judge and was now valid for an entire year. Wilde could not have contact with Lance in any shape or form and doing so was grounds for arrest. Coran had assured Lance that the university nor the police would be releasing anything further (and only  had done so as arrest records were public and the press had seen it and jumped on the story).

While Lance would need to speak with an attorney and advocate of his own (assuming he did not want to appear in court himself to which Lance had shuddered at even the idea and Coran had said more firmly they would make sure they got him an advocate) and submit a statement for the preliminary hearing in February (that Coran could not (legally) advise on as he was the primary investigator although Coran had relayed that the University would be working with Lance on that at a later time) for now the only thing both Coran and the university wanted Lance to do was focus on himself.

Lance didn’t want to do that.

He just wanted to forget.

He wanted to be fine.

He _needed_ to be fine.

He’d turned down Hunk’s quiet repeated offer via the school and Shiro to talk to a therapist, to see a doctor about a prescription for an antidepressant.

No.

He didn’t want those. He didn’t need them.

He just needed to be fine.

Those things meant he wasn’t.

And he was.

He was fine.

(He was not fine.)

There…

There was something else too, Hunk had told him, wringing his hands.

Pidge and Keith knew.

Lance had gone stark white.

Hunk hadn’t told them, he said, he swore. Neither had Shiro.

Lance believed him.

He’d whispered out a how, shaking even as Hunk carefully pulled him into his arms, trying to soothe away the tremors but even Hunk’s warmth couldn’t dispel the coldness that had settled in him.

What…

What did they think?

How horrified of him were they?

Hunk said Pidge had texted him the article. He… he wasn’t sure how, exactly, but…

Lance shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d been acting odd and while Pidge and Keith both tended to miss the mark on social norms they were very inquisitive and observant.

And if they knew…

How many other people suspected? He tried to tell himself that statistically most would think it was a female victim, that they’d be looking completely elsewhere for answers and his behavior, while quiet for him, could be a number of other things: stress or new classes or tired from break or, or…

But still...

_Dios._

Hunk didn’t know what Pidge and Keith thought, he hadn’t responded to Pidge’s message, he’d told Lance gently, rubbing his back. But… but it sounded like…

They sounded concerned, he settled on. And scared.

Lance was even more so.

He’d pleaded with Hunk not to reach out, he… he didn’t want to know.

He couldn’t take their disgust right now. Not when his older siblings’ reactions (or lack thereof in some regards; no hugs, no gentle holds, not even a hand to the knee and while he was afraid of some touches he craved others and they hadn’t even _tried_ and Lance was too scared to ask them for such in case they pulled away more because it _was_ shameful and he was ashamed and he was sorry and _Dios_ he knew he’d messed up but _please,_ he… he needed them _)_ were so raw on the surface.

He couldn’t bear to have his friends pull away too.

Now though, as he rode the elevator silently up to his dorm room with Hunk, he wished he’d asked.

The not knowing was worse.

He swallowed heavily against the taste of acid bile creeping up his throat.

He’d be finding out soon enough.

He and Hunk had been one of the first to arrive back on campus as they had over a three hour trip in and Mrs. Garrett had work early the next morning. That was fine with Lance as there was almost no one in the dormitory hallway and the few that were gave them waves and hellos that Lance couldn’t return due to his duffel bag and backpack and his face still obscured by his coat hood.

Their room was as they’d left it, if cold as the building’s heat had been turned off over break and it still needed time to permeate.

It just gave Lance a better excuse to say bundled in his thick hoodie with the hood drawn, curling up on his bed, arms wrapped about his stomach as he silently willed himself not to throw up.

He had no idea how he was supposed to make it through class tomorrow.

He had to though.

And he had to be _fine._

He wouldn’t even have Hunk as a buffer as they had no classes together this semester. He also had no classes with Pidge (even though right now he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not) and none with Keith either, although that wasn’t surprising as he was a second semester sophomore now.

His stomach gave a weird vibration and it took Lance a moment to realize it wasn’t his innards doing some new twisting motion but his phone that he’d put in the large pocket and he fumbled it free.

Pidge.

Pidge was calling.

He must have made some sound as Hunk looked up from where he was putting clothes away in his drawers with a quiet, “Lance?”

Lance held out the still vibrating but otherwise silent phone.

Hunk glanced at the screen as it went dark, unanswered, and then sat down on the edge of the bed by Lance’s head.

“You can’t ignore them forever,” he said softly, placing a careful hand on Lance’s upturned shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

“I know,” Lance whispered. “But…”

“Do you want me to talk to them first?” Hunk offered.

Lance felt his heart lurch with equal parts dread and relief.

But he shook his head against the pillow, musing his hair inside the hood. “N-no.”

He couldn’t ask that of Hunk.

He _shouldn’t_ be this scared.

Pidge and Keith… they weren’t like that.

He didn’t think so.

Lance’s phone buzzed then with a text.

 

 _Pidge: Can Keith and I come over later?  (17:12)_  
_Pidge: 1900? (17:12)  
_ _Pidge: I have peanut butter cookies (17:12)_

 

There was a set of pending dots then as she typed something more.

Lance stared, phone white-knuckled in his grip and barely breathing.

 

_Pidge: And a new racing game for my system. We can just play. We don’t have to do anything else (17:13)_

 

“What do you want to do?” Hunk asked gently, having read the messages too.

“I…” Lance looked again at the messages.

Pidge was typing again.

 

_Pidge: Please lance? (17:14)_

 

And although Lance couldn’t obviously hear the tone he could feel it.

Pidge was scared and worried.

Over him.

And… and despite fact they knew they still wanted…

Still wanted to see him.

He let out a shuddering breath and moved his fingers to the keypad and typed out a single word.

_Okay._

It was far from a good response but Pidge chimed back immediately with a smiley face and that was that.

Apparently he was doing this.

In less than two hours.

Because Lance knew that this wasn’t going to be just games. It couldn’t be, no matter what Pidge said.

But…

But maybe…

Like Hunk and Shiro they would…

“I’m proud of you,” Hunk said softly, giving his shoulder another squeeze. “It’s going to be okay, _hermano._ I know it.”

Lance managed a nod.

“We should go hit up the cafeteria before they close,” Hunk said. “It’s a limited menu but they should have soup.”

And while Hunk didn’t say it Lance could hear his friend’s plea that he needed to eat.

He could ask Hunk to bring him something, as he had been doing. But Hunk hadn’t offered that, he’d said ‘we’ with the implication that they both go to the cafeteria.

Lance knew he was right to do so. He _needed_ to go out there, to start interacting with people again even in this capacity.

“Okay,” he whispered and Hunk sent a beaming smile at him.

Lance pulled back on his coat and gloves for the short trek to the cafeteria, hoping they hid the tremors making their way through him.

He could do this.

He had to.

It was just dinner.

He’d managed the day after it had happened, over three weeks ago now, to pry himself from his room, go to classes and interact with people even when he’d been in pain and everything so raw.

He absolutely could do this now.

He didn’t know why it was so much harder.

Maybe, he decided as he stuck to Hunk’s side as they stepped outside, it was because people knew now. Even if it was just a few, even if it was just family and friends and the upper administration and police, he felt more exposed.

And it was about to become even worse.

“—can’t believe it,” Lance overheard a few minutes later from girl in front of him in the cafeteria checkout talking to her friend. “I had him in sophomore year and I never thought…”

“Me neither,” said the other girl. “I wonder who she was.”

Lance flinched.

She.

While people’s assumptions would cast suspicion off him…

He didn’t want to imagine what the reaction would be if they found out it was the opposite.

They wouldn’t though, he told himself, even as his hands shook and some soup sloshed over the rim of his bowl onto the tray. The university wasn’t commenting any further nor the police and Lance certainly wasn’t.

He just had to act normal.

Act fine.

He was fine.

Completely fine.

He barely managed to eat half of his soup even under Hunk’s worried eyes.

He was fine.

(He was not fine.)

xxx

Lance was glad he’d barely eaten anything as he could feel it churning in his stomach as he perched on the edge of his bed and stared at the door.

Any minute.

Any minute.

Any min—

A soft knock sounded and even though Lance had been waiting for it he startled, nearly slipping off the bed.

“Lance? Hunk?” Pidge’s voice was muffled through the door.

His hands shook inside the hoodie sleeves he’d tucked them further up into.

He could feel Hunk looking at him where he was sitting at this desk and had been organizing his books for classes tomorrow.

Another knock sounded, even more tentatively.

Lance forced himself to stand, to cross the few feet — rug, tile, small door rug — and reach out a hand to the door knob. He took one last breath and turned the handle, pulling the door open.

Pidge and Keith stood there, both in their outer coats with a large box in Keith’s gloved hands — the video game system, no doubt — and a tin of likely cookies in Pidge’s.

Lance blinked at Pidge who gave him a small smile that highlighted her reddened nose and…

And short hair.

“Your hair,” he said dumbly.

“Thank Matt,” she said, who he knew was her brother. She was still standing on the threshold and making no move like she normally would to shoulder her way in.

Lance wasn’t sure what that meant and stood aside.

She entered with a huff clearly still aimed at her brother and Keith silently behind her and Lance could feel the other boy trying to catch his gaze and he dropped his own.

He was afraid of what he’d find.

“It’s cute though,” Hunk said, getting up from his bed and taking their coats like Lance should have, dropping them over his desk chair.

Pidge waved a hand at him even as a slight pink overtook her cheeks. She turned inquisitive eyes to Lance and cocked her head. “And what do you think, resident beauty expert?”

Lance tried to hide the slight wince her words had brought on.

He’d been targeted for his looks and the reminder was like a punch in the gut.

Pidge’s smile wavered and he could sense Hunk tensing, Keith’s confusion.

Act normal.

He was fine.

“It’s…” he swallowed. “It’s… pretty, Pidge.”

He should say more, needed to say more, but Pidge’s smile was back and she chirped back a “thanks!” as though he hadn’t just frozen like a deer in headlights.

There was still a tenseness in the room as Pidge glanced from him to Hunk, who was looking at his own feet with an expression of guilt.

Guilt that Lance had put there.

He’d backed him into this spot.

He needed to fix it.

“How were your holidays?” he blurted out.

A question one asked an acquaintance. Not a friend.

_Dios._

He was messing everything up.

“Boring,” Keith answered to Lance’s surprise, sinking down to sit on one of the beanbag chairs. “Shiro had a lot of grading and coursework to finish for his master’s. But we did make it out to the Phoenix Zoo for the Christmas walk.”

“You and your hippo obsession,” Pidge rolled her eyes, flopping less delicately onto rug next to Keith.

“I like them,” Keith defended even as his cheeks darkened.

“It’s adorable,” Hunk grinned, looking more at ease too as he turned his desk chair around to face them.

It was just Lance now as the odd, tense one standing out.

He slowly sank down to sit on the rug, legs tucked beneath him and contrary to his normal sprawled sit, so at least he solved the standing problem.

Not the out part though.

“Mine were fun,” Pidge picked up the conversation thread. “Snowball fights, sledding, cookie baking…”

“You’re like a little kid,” Keith shook his head.

“Says the twenty-year-old obsessed with hippos.”

“Okay, okay,” Hunk interjected even though he was grinning. “Knock it off. Pidge, you said cookies?”

“My best batch,” she yanked the tin lid off.

“They’re burnt,” Keith observed, smirk playing on his face.

“They’re well-done.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s burnt.”

“Then you don’t have to eat them,” Pidge hunched over the cookies. “More for me. And Hunk. And Lance.”  She pushed the tin in Lance’s direction. “You want to try one, right, Lance?”

Lance felt hot tears sting his eyes.

He understood what they were doing. Pidge had implied in her text they weren’t going to ask him questions, weren’t going to bring up anything. They were going to keep things normal and light and fun.

But this wasn’t right.

Lance wasn’t right. He should have been trying to force a burnt cookie into Keith’s mouth or delicately sampling them like he was some food critic. He should have been pulling on Pidge’s now shortened locks and demanding to know what her brother had done that she’d had to cut it, no doubt a funny story. He should have been teasing Keith about the hippos and commenting that Matt needed to get involved with Keith’s hair too and fix his awful mullet.

Instead he was just sitting here and watching them as though he was a stranger.

It was wrong.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, shaking his head.

Pidge paled and he heard Hunk’s chair squeak and the beanbag under Keith shift.

“You don’t have to eat them,” she said quickly. “I was kidding. God, Lance, I…”

Lance shook his head.

“I’m s-sorry,” he repeated, voice growing high. “I… I can’t…”

He didn’t know what he was trying to say.

His eyes were squeezed tight now as though that could keep the tears inside. He felt Hunk sit down next to him, a warm arm wrap about his shoulders and he was tugged gently to rest against the other boy’s side.

He hiccuped back the oncoming sob.

“Lance?” he heard Pidge’s voice, closer than before. “Please, can I… can I…?” Her fingers brushed featherlight against his knee.

She…

Wanted to touch him?

When even his siblings had kept their arms and hands to themselves, tucked up under their arms or piled in their laps?

He gave a jerky nod.

Hunk moved his hand to his upper back to make room and Pidge pressed up against his opposite side, her small hands wrapping about his upper arm and no more words passing her lips but her touch, her hold enough.

Keith was silent.

Lance shuddered.

What did that mean? Was Keith disgusted by him too?

“Hey,” Keith’s voice was quiet but too loud all the same.

There was something else in it.

Understanding.

Lance couldn’t hold back the sob that time.

“Lance,” he sounded again. “Look at me.”

Lance shook his head against Hunk’s shoulder.

“Lance, look at me,” Keith repeated.

“It’s okay, _hermano,”_ Hunk said softly. _“Mira.”_

Lance was thrown into the memory of nearly the same conversation playing out as his mamá knelt in front of him in the kitchen.

It had been okay.

This would be okay too.

Lance slowly lifted his head, scene blurred with tears, to find Keith kneeling directly in front of him and bright purple eyes met his own.

There was not a hint of anger or revulsion in them.

Lance let out a breath.

“You don’t need to talk about it,” Keith said, holding his gaze and voice the softest Lance had ever heard it. “Not unless you want to. But… but we’re here. We’re…” his throat bobbed. “We’re not going anywhere.”

But would they when they (if they, could Lance actually tell them like he’d planned?) found out what had really happened?

The information released had been vague. Keith and Pidge (and everyone else) were under the assumption Wilde had… had _forced_ himself onto a victim, but…

But that hadn’t been what happened at all.

Lance had let him.

Lance had let him do anything he wanted to him.

He hadn’t fought back. He hadn’t protested. He’d just lied there and cried and it had _hurt_ and he knew it was wrong and he hadn’t done _anything._

It would be like his siblings. Horror and anger to start that had morphed to confusion that hid disgust and shame because it hadn’t been an assault, hadn’t been an attack.

Lance had been willing.

He could acknowledge he had been a victim.

But he’d been a willing victim.

It was only a one word difference but it meant so much.

It meant he really had shamed himself, shamed his family.

He’d been so _stupid._

He couldn't tell Keith and Pidge.

He couldn’t keep it inside to fester either. He couldn’t accept their comfort and concern and support when if they really knew what had happened they’d take it all back.

It was living a lie.

It made him feel sick.

“Lance?” Keith’s hand lightly bumped against his knee.

Lance flinched and Keith withdrew, guilt painting his features.

No.

That wasn’t right.

Keith had nothing to feel bad about.

This was all on Lance. This was his fault. His burden. His sin, his mistake, his screw-up, his shame.

He shook his head, not sure what it was at.

“Lance, _hermano,”_ Hunk’s voice was gentle. “It’s okay.”

Lance shook his head again.

He didn’t know what to say. It was like trying to talk to Mamá and Papá that first time, dread and horror along with the need to vomit out what had happened, to try and alleviate the poison brewing from the secret inside him.

But…

But…

He was _scared._

He didn’t want to lose them.

But if he said nothing then he would lose them anyway.

“Lance,” Keith tried again, tone still soft. “It’s—”

“I let him.”

Lance winced as soon as the words passed his lips and his stomach both tightened and released at the admission.

No one said anything although Hunk’s hand pressed more firmly on his back in a sign of comfort and for some reason Pidge tightened her hands about his arm.

“I let him,” Lance repeated, eyes trained on his knees as he couldn’t look at anyone right now. “I... I was stupid and wrong and I was so _stupid_ and, and…”

What else was there to say?

“Lance,” Hunk’s tone sounded like a plea. “Lance, no. We… we talked about this. You’re not stupid. You weren’t. You were _scared.”_

Lance shook his head again and he could feel Hunk’s sad sigh.

“Why?” Keith asked bluntly, but the word was soft.

It wasn’t accusatory at all.

Lance pressed his lips together.

How did he answer that?

“We… we know you were failing his class,” Pidge put out and Lance stiffened.

What?

How?

“That’s my fault,” Hunk whispered. “I’m so sorry, Lance.”

“No, it was ours,” Pidge said. “We were worried and reached out to Hunk and I kept pushing and Hunk finally said you failed the class and… and that’s on me. I was wrong to put you in that spot, Hunk. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry, Lance. I shouldn’t have pried like that.”

“‘s okay,” Lance managed, in regards to both of them. He knew Hunk hadn’t done it to be cruel and Pidge had pressed out of concern. He was admittedly a little terrified of her too and he wasn’t surprised Hunk had caved with some answer and didn’t hold it against Hunk for not telling him; it wouldn’t have mattered in the long run and only made him more anxious in the short-term.

“Was… was it because of that?” Pidge asked after another moment.

Lance inclined his head.

“You don’t have to say anything else,” Keith said in the silence.

“You’re… you’re not…?”

Disgusted? Ashamed?

Still wanted to be his friend?

“I’m pissed,” Keith said and Lance felt his shoulders curl inwards, “but not at you.”

Lance froze.

“I’m pissed at Wilde. That, that a teacher would… would do that. I don’t need to know the details to know that he’s a disgusting asshole and _you,”_ Keith placed a gentle hand on Lance’s knee and that time he did not pull away, “did not deserve any of that.”

“But I…” Lance’s throat bobbed. “I messed up. I—”

“He fucked up,” Pidge interrupted. “There’s no excuse for what he did. None. A, professor,” her voice broke on the word, “should _never_ have asked that of you. That’s _illegal.”_

Lance hunched over further.

Exactly.

He’d known that and he’d still…

“No,” Keith growled the word. “Whatever the fuck you’re thinking stop right now. You… you didn’t do anything wrong. _Anything,”_ he stressed. “Wilde did. He forced you into that. You didn’t want to, right?”

Lance gave the barest shake of his head.

No.

He hadn’t.

Not one bit.

“But I…” Lance swallowed. “But I…” He’d never said yes but he had consented.

Technically.

Hence why even with the arrest, even with Coran’s investigation Lance knew this was still far, far from over.

And that just made him feel sick all over again.

“Because he threatened you,” Pidge said, filling in holes and Lance hated that her brain was thinking at all on this. “He’d fail you, you’d go on academic probation and then you’d be expelled and everything you’ve worked for,” her voice softened, “everything your family worked for would be for nothing.”

Lance turned to stare at her, eyes wide.

She gave him a sad smile.

“Hunk said it,” she said. “You were scared, Lance. He… he took advantage of that. He’s the criminal.”

Maybe.

It didn’t mean Lance hadn’t been incredibly stupid.

“He’s done this before, hasn’t he?” Keith asked quietly.

Lance jerked his head back in Keith’s direction.

How had he…?

The media only had been told of a victim, a case, although Lance had no doubts once the trial started more would come out.

“Shiro knows,” Keith said, although leaving it open as a possible question.

Lance nodded anyway.

“He made a comment to me, not about you,” Keith said quickly and Lance felt the sudden tightness of his chest release because of course Shiro wouldn’t betray his confidence, not even to Keith. “About if I would tell him if,” Keith waved his other hand awkwardly. “And… and it just made me think given now that… that there were other victims. Am I right?”

Lance nodded.

He didn’t know how many, Coran hadn’t said and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but it was more than a few.

“He manipulated you,” Keith continued. “He’s gotten away with it for, for years. He used that, used your family against you. So even if…” Keith’s hand tightened on his  knee. “Even if you agreed to that, you weren’t consenting. You didn’t want to. He _hurt_ you, Lance,” and Keith’s voice wavered ever so on that word and Lance felt his stomach clench with something new.

Why did it sound like Keith…

Like he knew about this?

Something must have shown on his face as Keith’s expression tightened with pain. “Not me,” he said quietly and Lance heard Pidge’s breath hitch. “But… but I knew people. From the foster system.  I… I know what kind of monsters there are out there. I’ve met them. And monsters like Wilde, who seem kind, are the worst of them all.”

Lance felt tears stinging his eyes.

Keith and Pidge…

They…

They didn’t hate him, they weren’t disgusted. Even knowing that he’d let Wilde…

They were still here.

They understood.

They weren’t going to leave him.

He couldn’t contain the sob that time.

“ _Gr-gracias,”_ he choked out around it.

Keith and Pidge squeezed the respective limbs they were touching in answer.

It was more than he could have ever hoped for.

He still didn’t want to talk about it or think on it. He didn’t want to remember.

But telling Pidge and Keith this much…

He felt like he could maybe breathe again.

“So…” Pidge said into the quiet and Lance canted his head towards her as he brought up a hand to rub at his eyes. “Do you want to try a cookie now?”

Lance let out a sound between a laugh and a sob and nodded his head.

He ate three.

And his stomach didn’t hurt at all.

xxx

_Please see me._

Lance stared at the note on the top of his short answer proof quiz for his math class, circled in red pen and felt his vision tunneling in on it and the sounds of his classmates fading into background noise.

_Dios._

No.

This…

Not again.

It was two weeks into second semester and Lance had been trying his best to… to be fine. To be normal.

It got easier every day.

Sort of.

The first few had been the hardest as news of Wilde’s arrest and speculation ran rampant through the student body.

But just like the girls the cafeteria everyone automatically assumed it was a female victim and although Lance knew he had been quieter no one given him a second glance.

But what sickened him were the comments he picked up on was were they _sure_ it had been rape? Wilde wasn’t that sort of person, he was _so nice_ and maybe it had been a case of regret on behalf of the student. Because Professor Wilde? Six time winner of professor of the year since he’d been there, the one who laughed and joked in class and was so understanding and kind had _raped_ someone?

It couldn’t be.

Lance just hunched over and tried not to listen, kept his earbuds in so if anyone asked him he could pretend he hadn’t heard.

What could he say?

Almost everyone seemed to be of the opinion that Wilde was…

Was _innocent._ This had been a _mistake_ and the trial would clear things up. Lance knew that wouldn’t be the case at all, that Wilde’s multiple transgressions would come to light then and everyone would realize how wrong they were, but…

But in the meantime it made him absolutely sick to hear the defenses and he couldn’t say anything.

Not without outing himself because _no one else was._ He’d asked Hunk and the others not to say anything either because he didn’t want any extra attention, just wanted it to _stop._

About a week in the rumor mill had finally calmed and now the biggest news was back to moaning about classes and Lance sank into that slice of regularity gratefully.

He told himself everything was fine.

He was fine.

(He was not fine.)

He had still been wearing hoodies although the other day he had forced himself to go without in just a long-sleeved shirt after one student had asked him how he wasn’t hot in that as the room heater was cranked all the way up. 

Lance had made a meek protest that he felt cold and it had been dropped without issue other than an incredulous look but he knew, just knew, that it was starting to become obvious.

He also knew that a piece of clothing could not save him and so… so it had to go.

He’d been violently sick that first morning without it. It felt like everyone was looking at him and while before that would have made him preen, try to catch the eye of a pretty girl who might have seen the shirt ride up when he stretched, now he tugged it down constantly, pulled the cuff over his fingers and tried not to be sick again.

He didn’t want anyone’s attention.

He’d been making an effort to go to the cafeteria every day, even on his own. Just to pop in, smile at the cashier, practice making small talk again, to be _normal,_ to go back to what used to come as easily to him as breathing.

He wasn’t as successful as he’d have liked. His tongue tended to  freeze, his hands shook and the mere brush of someone bumping into him had him jumping forward as though burned.

But he was trying.

He was getting better at it.

He was _fine._

If he told himself that enough times it would have to become true.

But now…

The writing on his quiz blurred, red ink.

Red blood.

Just like…

Like...

His hands shook.

Around him he could see his fellow classmates starting to get up and leave, no doubt rushing for lunch before the cafeteria closed.

Lance numbly stood, pulse echoing in his ears.

He’d taken too long to stand, he realized.

He was the only one left in the room.

Well, besides the professor.

Professor Josh Torrance, going on two years at GGU and who Lance knew a bunch of girls had a crush on as he was younger, only in his mid-thirties, regularly lifted weights, ran marathons and had an easy smile.

Lance didn’t trust smiles any more.

He should leave.

Pretend he missed the note, somehow, just walk away before—

“Ah, Mr. Esposito, a moment please,” and the professor was standing directly in front of him.

No escape.

“I wanted to talk to you about your quiz.”

_“You wanted to talk to me, Professor?”_

_“Yes,” a smile, “about your paper.”_

“You seem to be struggling with some of the linear—”

The words faded to white noise. Lance could see Torrance’s lips moving but the only thing he could hear was his own racing heart.

He was suddenly too hot and too cold all at once.

His hands trembled, the sleeves of the large hoodie he’d worn that day (out of his large long sleeve shirts, couldn’t wear the fitted ones) dropped over them.

“I have an idea that I think—”

“ _I may have a solution if you are interested.”_

No.

No.

 _Dios,_ please no.

He couldn’t breathe.

He tried to suck in a breath but nothing happened.

“—sito? Are you all right?”

He stumbled backwards.

He hit one of the desks.

Trapped.

_He was pressed down on the couch._

_The backrest was digging into his spine._

_Hands held down his shoulders._

No.

No no no no no.

Black spots danced in his vision.

“—Lance?”

His name.

_“Lance. Oh, Lance.”_

No.

_Dios._

“ _You are so perfect, Lance. So exquisite.”_

He couldn’t breathe.

He swayed.

What direction was up?

A hand reached out.

Pale. Large.

“—what’s wrong? Can you—”

It landed on his shoulder.

_Hands dug into his flesh._

_Scratches were carved on his back, his arms._

_“Stay there now, just like that. Perfect. You’re perfect.”_

Lance gasped, the action taking the rest of his air.

The blackness flickered in his view.

The world turned sideways.

He saw Torrance reaching for him as he fell, eyes wide.

He saw nothing else.

xxx

“—and so then Slav said—”

Shiro cut off as his phone buzzed on the other side of his desk.

“Uh uh,” Keith pushed the phone further away. “You said you weren't going to take calls today. I’ve barely seen you in two weeks, Shiro.”

“I know, I know,” Shiro glanced at his phone, displaying an unknown number.

He’d been thrust fully back into his own coursework and his role as a TA for Slav (who Shiro still couldn’t believe he had been partnered with for this semester too but Slav was the most tenured professor and he had taken a shine to Shiro even though he had “heathen ways” of stapling papers and insisted he work for him again) and had been drowning under paperwork and homework.

He normally made a point to meet with Keith in his office at least once a week and dinner once a week too, but he’d been so swamped and trying not to start off the semester already behind that he’d only been checking in with Keith via quick texts and the occasional few minute phone call.

Keith had told him though in one of those instances that he’d talked to Lance… and learned what had happened.

Shiro had never been prouder of his little brother. He’d known Keith would stand by Lance and support him, but to hear how protective Keith sounded of Lance in even that brief phone call had warmed his heart.

Shiro had been in contact with Hunk; he didn’t want to invade Lance’s privacy but Lance had not responded to any further messages since break and after Shiro learned from Hunk about Lance feeling guilty about not responding to Keith or Pidge he’d refrained from sending more. He didn’t want to cause any more duress than Lance was already under and decided he would wait.

And he was still waiting.

Hunk was worried, he gathered from the brief updates. Lance still didn’t want to talk about anything, the closest he’d gotten being with Pidge and Keith but that still hadn’t been about processing or coping. It was a start that he was able to acknowledge it but that was all it was. And it wasn’t going past that point.

Lance couldn’t keep it all bottled up. Shiro had heard the rumors too about Wilde, knew once the trial happened and the media got a whiff of it that things would blow up all over again. He kept his own mouth shut as right now saying anything would only add fuel to the fire and Lance was not prepared to deal with any further interest. It was finally starting to die down and Shiro knew the lull of peace was what was needed right now to give Lance the opportunity to start coming to terms with what had happened without all of the scrutiny before the preliminary hearing next month.

Except Lance didn’t want help. And pushing him to get it would only make him more against the idea.

Patience, Shiro told himself. He would wait for Lance to come to him, for Hunk to report if things had taken a significant nosedive before he tried to reach out again. Lance knew he was there, knew he was always willing to even just listen or to offer a space off campus if Lance needed to get away.

Patience.

The phone screen went dark and Shiro turned back to Keith and the lunch Keith had picked up from the cafeteria and brought to the math TA office. There were four of them that used it; two desks squeezed in along with a table and chairs that he and Keith were at and a couch along the wall, but right now it was all Shiro’s as the rest were in classes or had off days.

“Okay, where was I?” Shiro asked, spearing a tomato in his pasta salad. Whoever it was could leave a message, assuming it wasn’t a wrong number.

“Slav just said—”

His phone went off again.

Same number.

Keith’s glare could have burned holes in it.

“Sorry, buddy,” Shiro reached for it. “Just let me take this real quick, okay? Then we can have some peace.”

“Fine,” Keith sighed.

Shiro picked it up, firmly intending whoever it was that they could leave a message—

“— _pick up pick up—”_

“Hello?” Shiro said into the phone, frown pulling on his face at the clear urgency coming from the other party.

“ _Hello? Shirogane?”_

 _“_ Can I ask who’s calling?” Shiro had a very firm policy about handing his cell number out to students and if this was—

“ _It’s Torrance.”_ Ah, Shiro knew who that was even if he didn’t really know the professor.

Why was he calling him?

“ _Lance Esposito had you has an emergency contact and—”_

Shiro sat up straighter, blood running cold and could see Keith stiffening as well at his response.

“Is he okay?” Shiro asked, cutting the teacher off.

“ _I’m not sure. I have the medics here and he’s waking up but—”_

“Where are you?” Shiro interrupted again.

What had happened?

“ _Kerberos Hall, room three hundred and four.”_

The math building, one floor up from Shiro.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Shiro said.

“ _Okay, okay. See you then.”_

Shiro hung up the phone and turned to Keith, who had stood as well and was poised on the balls of his feet as though to run.

“Something happened with Lance,” Shiro said, grabbing his lanyard and car keys.

Keith sucked in a harsh breath.

“Go get the car,” Shiro tossed him they keys. “Pull up in front, anyone asks tell them Slav said to. I… I don’t know what’s happening but…”

But it would be a good idea to get Lance out of sight of any eyes and while Shiro’s first thought would be to bring Lance to the TA office… it was the same arrangement as nearly every office on GGU and, as his eyes flicked to the couch, exposing Lance to this setup would be a _horrible_ idea.

“Okay,” Keith breathed.

Shiro didn’t wait a second longer, long stride carrying him to the staircase that would be faster than the elevator.

He was outside the named classroom a moment later, the door open but not widely. Shiro pushed in, taking in the scene in a blink.

Torrance — he hadn’t really ever talked with him outside of passing but Shiro knew students seemed to like him, the female population in particular — was standing by the podium, laptop propped open and Shiro caught a glimpse of Lance’s photo from his ID; all professors had access to student profiles for emergency situations and Torrance had likely opened it for contacts as well as medical conditions.

But Shiro barely spared him a glance once he saw Lance.

Lance was sitting, barely, pressed up against the legs of a desk with pupils blown wide that were looking beyond the room and flushed cheeks that covered an otherwise stark white complexion and even with the thick hoodie Shiro could make out the rapid rise and fall of his chest and hear the heavy breaths.

Next to him two medics from GGUs infirmary were crouched.

Both male. Both larger than Lance.

And one was trying to pull the boy’s hoodie off.

“—overheating, come now, you’ll feel better—”

Lance moaned low in his throat and it was such a note of _terror_ that Shiro’s step faltered.

“—going to grab the oxygen mask,” said the other medic and Shiro watched as Lance winced at the low tone. “He’s going to pass out again.”

Pass out.

Again.

What had happened?

“Lance,” Shiro heard the name on his lips although it didn’t sound like his voice, high and breathless.

It attracted the attention of the medics. They seemed to have been expecting him as both shifted a few inches, giving Shiro the floor, although they remained close with a blood pressure cuff in one man’s hand.

Lance let out a whimper at the movement.

Shiro dropped to his knees with a thump right in front of the slender boy, who looked so _small_ in the oversized sweatshirt, hands pressed to his chest in an attempt to keep the medics from removing his clothing.

“Lance, hey buddy,” he said, not touching him as unseeing ocean eyes looked past him. “Lance, it’s Shiro. You’re okay. I promise Lance, you’re okay.”

Lance shuddered out an exhale.

“That’s it, that’s great, buddy. You’re okay. Just… just listen to my voice, all right?” Shiro hoped his voice didn’t actually crack on that last bit as he heard it. He took a breath himself. “You’re okay. It’s Shiro. Come on buddy, look at me, you can do it.”

And to Shiro’s utter relief clarity was beginning to return to Lance’s eyes, the pupils slowly undialating from the stark fear.

“There you go, I’m right here, you’re okay.”

Lance’s gaze finally came to rest on him.

“Sh-Shiro?” he whispered, voice small. “Wh-what…?”

His eyes grew wide again as he no doubt saw the medics and whatever had happened came rushing back. His looked beyond Shiro, where he knew Torrance was standing, and let out a whimper before he ducked his head down but not before Shiro had caught the flash of emotion on his face.

Shame.

Embarrassment.

Not fear.

Whatever had happened Shiro felt had not been ill intent on Torrance’s part and his stomach unclenched the tiniest bit. At least there was that.

“Easy, easy,” Shiro said, still refraining from reaching out. “You’re okay. Everything is all right.”

 _“Lo siento,”_ came the barely audible reply.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Shiro said softly, familiar at least with that phrase.

Lance shook his head.

One of the medics gave a light cough and Lance startled before ducking his head further down.

His cheeks were still dark pink.

“Lance, buddy, I think these guys need to check you over,” Shiro turned and received a nod of confirmation, “but I’ll be right here, okay?”

At that Lance jerked his head up. “No, no. I’m f-fine.”

“You blacked out, son,” one of the medics said, maintaining a perimeter even with Shiro. “We just want to make sure you’re all right. Part of it I think might be that sweatshirt you’re wearing, hm? Can we take that off?”

Lance winced at the words and Shiro wished the medic had phrased it a little less… hands-on. But they were trained to be inclusive and normally Shiro was sure that sort of language was comforting.

Lance was shaking again.

“Come on, buddy,” Shiro tried to catch the dark eyes. “I’m right here. Nothing… Nothing is going to happen. I promise.”

It was perhaps telling, moreso than Shiro wanted, but when he glanced in his peripherals at the medics there was only concern on their faces and Torrance had excused himself across the room after Lance’s initial reaction and hadn’t heard. The words had the desired effect too as Lance looked up and met his eyes and gave the barest nod.

Trembling hands reached down and Shiro had to physically hold himself back as Lance slowly, carefully, tugged the sweatshirt up, freezing as his shirt beneath it tried to go up too, and a long minute later had it pulled free, a baseball tee in gray and blue clinging then to him and damp with sweat.

“All right, here we go,” one of the medics knelt down with the blood pressure cuff. “Son, can you hold your arm out for me? Whichever one you’d like, I just want to get a reading real quick.”

The medic moved just as slowly as Lance had, gently rolling up the armsleeve on Lance’s extended right hand to his elbow and even more gently wrapping the cuff about his arm. “There we go,” the medic said, “not so bad, right? You’ll feel a little bit of a squeeze… now,” and Lance stiffened, “but that’s it. Just a few more seconds. And… One eighty over ninety… high but I can see it coming down already. Can you take a deep breath for me, son? Hold it for five counts with me.”

Lance did so, the exhale shaky, and the medic had him repeat it several times.

“There we go,” he smiled a few minutes later. “One thirty over seventy.”

Shiro stood by as they asked Lance a few questions, the boy still curled over his knees but the flush was starting to fade and his complexion returning to a dark tan from the white pallor.

Had he eaten today? No.

How many hours of sleep had he gotten last night? Maybe… maybe four.

Had he had been drinking fluids? Some. He’d had a bottle of water earlier.

Had he been drinking alcohol? No.

Drugs? An adamant shake of his head.

Had he been feeling sick recently? Maybe? His stomach was hurting.

Was he experiencing chills? No.

Did he have a history of breathing problems or asthma? No.

Had this ever happened before? No.

How would he rank his current stress level on a scale of one to ten? Lance had paused and then whispered out an eight.

Did something happen that Lance remembered that had made him pass out? Lance had flinched at that question and shaken his head.

They hadn’t pushed.

Did he want to go to the hospital? No, along with a head shake and a tremble.

Shiro felt his heart twist at the response.

The medics gave a final diagnosis that Lance was overtired and stressed and needed to eat and drink. Also, they advised limiting the heavy layers in the very warm building and Lance’s hands had bunched in the hoodie he’d gathered into his lap.

While they were having Lance sign a medical release Shiro quickly made his way over to Torrance, who was sitting at the desk and looking a little pale himself.

“You okay?” Shiro asked him quietly.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. How’s Esposito?”

“Not eating or sleeping enough,” Shiro replied and Torrance let out a shaky exhale.

“Jeez, I’m, I’m glad that’s all it is. Kid just… just collapsed and…”

“Thanks for calling me,” Shiro said quietly. “I’ll make sure he gets some rest.”

“If you don't mind... could you tell him about the department’s tutor program too?” Torrance asked. “I wanted to talk to him about it for some extra help for his proofs, but...” he held out a quiz that had a request in red ink to speak with Torrance after class and ah, Shiro understood so much better now.

He wished he didn’t.

He was grateful though that that was all it was.

Even though the fact such a thing had catapulted Lance into such a state was not good at all either.

It was actually rather terrifying.

“I’ll talk to him,” Shiro said.

They had a lot to talk about. The time for waiting was over.

Lance seemed to sense it too as while he kept his head ducked down and wouldn’t meet Shiro’s eyes as he approached he offered no protest when Shiro said he wanted to take him off campus for a bit and talk, and would Lance be all right to come to his apartment? and he received the barest nod.

A few minutes later he was steering Lance out of the building, one hand carefully wrapped about thin shoulders back under the sweatshirt and hood pulled up to hide his face although considering they were going outside and it was chilly Shiro didn’t argue, and towards his car where Keith was leaning outside it. He practically jumped to attention when he saw them but to Shiro’s relief didn’t say anything; merely opened the driver’s door and slipped in.

“Do you want me to sit with you?” Shiro asked Lance gently, opening the back door, and received a tiny shrug in response.

The shoulders were still shaking beneath his hand.

Shiro ended up sitting in the front seat but pulled out the blanket from the trunk and Lance had accepted it with a soft _gracias,_ cuddling it to his chest.

The ride was silent although Shiro did give Keith’s arm a small squeeze and an attempted smile to show that things weren’t…

Well, they weren’t okay but they weren’t horrible.

Keith hadn’t smiled back.

They were still all silent as they went into the studio apartment, Shiro gestured for Lance to take a seat at the two-person table, and he took the other while Keith went to the kitchen and put on the tea kettle.

Lance kept his head down and his hands clenched in his lap. He startled a bit as a few minutes later Keith plunked down a mug — hot chocolate, Shiro noted — in front of him and then another in front of Shiro.

“Do you want me to go?” Keith asked quietly.

Lance gave a shake of his head. “No. It’s… it’s fine.”

He swallowed, eyes still focused on his lap. “I’m fine. R-really.”

“Lance,” Shiro spoke gently but firmly. “You are not fine.”

It was time someone said it.

Lance’s shoulders hunched further.

He didn’t deny it.

“Do you want to talk about what happened? Today?” Shiro clarified quickly. “With Professor Torrance? Did he…?”

Lance’s head flew up. “No. No. He didn’t do… do anything,” his voice petered out by the end.

And while Shiro had come to that conclusion hearing Lance confirm it had him letting out a silent sigh of relief.

“It’s stupid,” Lance whispered. He didn’t say it but Shiro heard it anyway.

“ _I’m stupid.”_

“No it isn’t,” Keith said.“What’s stupid is that you keep hurting yourself like this.”

“Keith…” Shiro said warningly, although his words were drowned out by Lance’s choked apology of, “ _lo siento.”_

“No,” Keith snapped back and Shiro wasn’t sure who Keith was talking to. Maybe both of them. “This situation sucks, Lance. It’s fucked up. It’s _really_ fucked up. But, but you can’t keep doing this. You need to talk to someone,” Keith said softer now and his hand tentatively lighted on Lance’s shoulder and Shiro let out a silent breath when Lance didn’t pull away.

“I’m _fine,”_ Lance choked out.

The tears gathering in his eyes said otherwise.

“Lance,” Shiro slipped from his own chair to kneel next to Lance, placing his own hand on top of Lance’s gathered on his lap.

He could feel the tremble even now but Lance did not pull away.

“You’re not fine,” he continued gently. “I know how hard you’re trying to be, but… but what you went through isn’t something you can just ignore. That’s not healthy, buddy. Keith is right; it’s hurting you.”

A tear dripped down Lance’s cheek.

“I know it’s scary. Those memories _are_ scary. But keeping everything locked up inside has to be scary too. We all just want to help you. We’re not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to but… but I think talking to someone, a professional, will help you feel better.”

“I don’t w-want to remem-b-ber,” Lance sobbed. “I d-don’t want to.”

Shiro’s heart broke.

He heard Keith draw in a ragged breath.

“I know,” Shiro whispered. “I know, buddy. And you don’t have to, okay? No one is going to make you relieve that. But… but you need to process, Lance. You need to move forward, safely, and a therapist can help with that.  Would… would you be up for trying?”

“Can’t I… can’t I just… to you?”

“I’m always here to listen,” Shiro said gently. “Always. But…”

This was beyond Shiro.

Lance’s shoulders shook and another broken sob echoed in the tiny apartment.

And then...

He nodded. It was a small thing, barely a dip, but it was something.

Shiro felt his heart start beating again. 

“You’ll… you’ll come with?” Lance whispered, his hands trembling still in Shiro's hold. 

“Of course,” Shiro breathed. “Of course, buddy. I… I can’t go in with you but I’ll be there.”

Protection. A precaution.

Shiro would do anything to make sure Lance felt safe.

“Hunk too?”

“Hunk too.” And Shiro knew the other boy would in a heartbeat. He’d seen the dedication, the sheer love, the two had for one another and just like how Hunk had gone to the hospital on the initial visit, had stood by during the examination, he would always be there for Lance.

But Shiro knew despite that Hunk could not always be Lance’s support. Lance was going to have to learn to stand again on his own. But he’d seen Lance’s strength and he knew that he could do this.

He just needed a little push.

“Okay,” Lance agreed with a whisper.

“Okay,” Shiro whispered back, giving mocha hands a squeeze. “Okay.”

Okay.

xxx

Lance took in a shaky inhale, the soft scent of vanilla tickling his nose.

“And again please,” the therapist, Dr. Lara Fahari said gently, black hair streaked with gray bobbing as she did the same with him.

Lance did so, just as he had the last ten times.

A long slow breath through his nose to fill up his lungs from bottom to top, hold for three counts that Dr. Fahari said aloud, and then exhale through pursed lips while focusing on relaxing his facial muscles, shoulders and his stomach.

He could feel his heart rate growing steadier with each repetition.

Dr. Fahari hadn’t asked him to do anything since he got here except to breathe and inquire if he preferred the scent of vanilla or lavender.

She had spoken though, gently as he breathed.

She had been briefed on what had happened, she told him.

And they weren’t here to talk about that.

Lance had looked at her with wide eyes, confused.

She wasn’t here to make him talk about things he didn’t feel comfortable sharing, she said. She was here to help him, not hurt him, and right now memories were painful things. So for now they were instead going to focus on breathing exercises, specifically what she called the calming breath.

He’d had a panic attack, she said gently, at the school. One so severe he’d stopped breathing and knocked himself unconscious. That was dangerous on many levels and she wanted to give him the tools to steady himself if he found himself feeling like that again. The breathing exercise gave him something to focus on, she said, rather than his thoughts or memories.

“Good job, Lance. And again.”

As he completed that set she did not call for him to continue and he lifted his eyes up from where they’d been trained on his hands, clasped in his lap, meeting her bright brown gaze.

“How do you feel?”

“Um…” his eyes flicked back down to his hands. “Um, okay.”

He didn’t feel like he was about to faint again at least, which is how he’d felt when he entered the office and it had grown worse as he’d stepped into the private room and left Hunk and Shiro in the waiting room.

“Tea?”

He lifted his head back up at the question and Dr. Fahari inclined her head to where a series of mugs were sitting next to a hot plate and kettle just next to him.

“I enjoy the feeling of something warm in my hands,” she said. “It calms me.”

Lance tentatively leaned over the thick arm of the chair he’d sat in — squishy but still firm — and picked up a mug with a quiet clink and a thank you. He didn’t care much for tea but the mug did feel nice.

He realized a tick later his hands couldn’t be tucked inside one another now.

“I’d like to talk for a little bit now, if that’s all right with you,” she said, leaning back in her own armchair with her ankles crossed beneath a large floral skirt. “You do not have to respond if it makes you uncomfortable, all right? Just shake your head and we’ll move on.”

Lance nodded.

She smiled gently. “Thank you. Do you know why you are here?”

Lance nodded.

“Can you tell me?”

Oh.

Um.

“To… to talk?” Lance said quietly. “About… about what happened.” He felt a shiver run down his spine.

He didn’t want to.

“Not quite,” Dr. Fahari said. “For now I want to talk about _you_ , Lance. Not what happened to you, but about you; what you are feeling and how to process those feelings in a healthy, safe manner and environment. I want to give you tools so that when you do feel scared or upset that those emotions don’t control you. It’s a scary feeling, isn’t it, to not be in control?”

Lance managed a nod.

“Can you tell me what you’re feeling right now?”

Lance gave a shrug.

“Are you happy?”

He shook his head.

“Sad?”

He didn’t think so.

“Scared?”

A… a little.

“And that’s okay,” she said gently. “I’m not here to tell you what you can and cannot feel or what you think you _should_ be feeling. All of your feelings are valid, Lance, and accepting them will help you begin to feel in control again.”

He bowed his head.

“I want you to be able to feel comfortable talking with me, even if what we’re talking about makes you uncomfortable. Emotions are like that. They can make us feel good or bad or sad or angry or sick or a multitude of other things. And although it might not sound like it, feeling bad can be a good thing. Humans were not meant to only be one or the other, Lance. And trying to be ‘fine,’” he jerked his head up at the word, “is not going to help you feel better. You will only feel frustrated and upset when you feel that you fail to measure up to that self-prescribed standard.”

“I…” he swallowed and she nodded encouragingly. “I just… I…” His breath hitched. “I just… want things to be n-normal. I want to be fine. I don’t…” his hands tightened around the mug. “I don’t like f-feeling like… like this.”

“Understandable,” she said softly. “And that’s why I’m here. I will preface this now: the healing process, the acceptance process, is not linear. It has ups and downs and all sorts of offshoots. It will take time to feel better and sometimes it might seem like it’s taking too long or things aren’t improving. Sometimes that might even be true. But what’s important is that you are honest with yourself, Lance. I know that that’s scary, terrifying even. It doesn’t feel good to acknowledge being scared or sick or ashamed,” Lance flinched at the last word, “but you must. It’s why we will eventually talk about those feelings and why they are there, but we will do so slowly, in a safe place, and at a pace that you can handle.”

She took a breath. “All I ask is that you are honest with not only yourself but with me. I am not here to judge, Lance. I will not take offense or grow angry or be disappointed no matter what you say or can’t say. I’m not here to push you to talk about something you are not ready to address. I am here to help you because I don’t want you to just be fine, I want you to be _happy.”_

Happy?

Lance wasn’t sure what that felt like anymore. He’d had little glimpses, moments, that cut through the heavy fog that surrounded him in the actions and inclusions of his friends, of his Mamá and Papá but to be actually happy again... To wake up with a smile and not feel the too familiar dread and sickness coiling in his stomach, afraid of what the day could bring… To just be _happy_ and _laugh_ and feel that joy in his heart that was without filter?

He’d like to feel like that again.

He’d like to feel that again so much it hurt.

He nodded. “Me… me too.”

And he meant it.

He was ready to be happy again.

xxx

Lance exited Dr. Fahari’s office, the door thumping gently behind him, and walked the short hallway into the waiting room where Hunk and Shiro were. In his hand was an appointment schedule; twice a week for two hours to start, Dr. Fahari had said, and they would go from there.

It…

It was a lot to take in.

Not only that, but Lance didn’t want to think about how much it was costing. Shiro though had told him on the drive over that the university would cover everything and to not give it a second thought.

He’d need a ride to and from each appointment too.

Shiro had again said not to worry. He was happy to do so and Keith had volunteered too, either via Shiro’s car or his motorcycle.

Lance still was reeling over how… accommodating they were all being. He tried to focus on being grateful for it rather than feeling guilty for all of the time they were spending on him. They wanted to do this, Shiro had iterated several times. They all wanted to help.

Lance felt tears pricking his eyes but for a different reason than previous.

He hadn’t blinked them away though by the time he entered the waiting room and Hunk had apparently been watching the entryway like a hawk as he was on his feet the moment Lance appeared, looking a mixture of worried and hopeful even as they zeroed in on the tears.

“How’d it go?” he asked gently, placing a hand on Lance’s back and Lance leaned into the embrace.

“...okay,” Lance said after a moment. “G-good.”

It really had.

“I’m so glad to hear it, buddy,” Shiro chimed in, coming to stand next to him and placing his own gentle hand against Lance’s shoulder. “You feeling all right?”

“Um…” Lance swallowed.

He couldn’t keep lying to himself.

He had to try to be honest.

“I’m… I’m not really okay,” he whispered. “I’m… I’m not fine. But… but I… I want to be.”

The words hung there for a moment before Hunk’s hold tightened into a hug and Shiro’s hand gave him a squeeze.

“Oh, _hermano_ ,” Hunk murmured. “I’m so happy for you.”

Lance relaxed in the embrace, tears pricking at his eyes again.

Happy tears, maybe.

No, that wasn’t right.

No more lying to himself. No more pretending and hiding.

What was he feeling?

Relief.

Contentment.

Acceptance.

Yes. Those were true.

And it was true that he was not fine. Not right now.

But…

But he knew he would be.

And that was the truth too.

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
>   
> **Stop!** Are you enjoying this work? (I hope so!) This fic is indeed part of a series but you don't have to wait until the very end to leave a comment. If you are enjoying this series please do leave one (or two or three ♥) as you go along. Your author appreciates it. Thank you! ♥  
> -  
> Lance is moving forward in this journey and I’m so happy for him ♥ I love all parts of this series but quite a few moments in this one were particular joys to write. Lots of love to my commissioner for wanting to continue this series and, cough, there will be a fifth (and final) part coming probably late January/February next year.
> 
> (Also, cough, The Emperor’s Groove is such an underrated movie and I adore it xD)
> 
> As always, please do leave a comment below if you read and enjoyed the fic. Given that we had 12k words worth of content I’d love to hear what part really struck you, favorite section, dialogue exchange… please give the author some love with comments. She would really, really appreciate it. Thank you!


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